Raising Schiffer
by Your Evil Spleen
Summary: In an awry turn of events, a strike by Hollow Ichigo on Ulquiorra's head resulted in the latter being reverted into a...four year old? Manga divergence from The Lust chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note : Awesome. Yet another goddamn new fic. I figure no one has actually done this scenario yet so here I am killing every inch of your brain cell. Stay alive and feedback would be greatly appreciated. Story is entirely in Ichigo's POV unless stated otherwise, and ha ha, this is a fic done to showcase my outrageous adoration for IchiUlq/UlqIchi, so you kinda know where this is headed for...characters may be slightly OOC. I'll tone it down. Hehe.

Disclaimer : Characters and settings belong to Kubo Tite the Great. I'll take the scraps.

**Chapter One**

You know the drill.

Fifteen going on sixteen, hardly one third through high school and barely a foot into my angsty adolescent years I've already seen more spirits than required of your average unlucky person skulking around in graveyards, been in contact with them until it becomes mandatory; heck most of my friends are deceased to begin with, no matter the numerous problems one may raise about my personality because that in itself is a valid point to end all arguments.

I don't mean to frequent their world, but it's just so that each time everything seems at peace with itself, a friend has to go missing or kidnapped or taken away by force. The friend simply will disappear from sight. Bewildering eh? I've always deemed my friends as Very Important Persons, but the fact that they are consistently snatched away in the middle of the night clearly highlights that point. Then off I go again with my humongous zanpakutou, without the slightest ray of logic that I may end up dying for real and leave my mortal body rotting alongside a mentally challenged modified soul whose idea of fun is to grapple with breasts and burst into tears.

The thought of it sends frightful shudders down my spine. I don't ever wish to return to my human body and have an unknown teenage girl point at her tummy and scream at me,

"Take responsibility for this!"

That would be crazier than the situation I'm blessed with now.

Granted my little known popularity with kids, them young kids whose milk teeth have yet to fully drop, I've never expected to be followed by them. Having them around is alright – I'm rather fond of them, but having them bumble about after every single jerk of the limbs is quite unbelievable. I don't mean it in a good way, mind you! They're worse than the most possessive of stalkers, more compulsive in their unreasoned behavior than hardcore gamblers, more tiresome than old people who are hard on hearing, and scarier than Tousen's hefty ton of paperwork for a speech on peace that – thankfully – never came through.

Kids get a little better after sometime, and when I was getting accustomed to the presence of crybaby Nel, she wandered off into the deserts of Hueco Mundo with her fellow minions. At least she's in good company; she truly deserves it.

Then I thought I'd be free of extremely young beings for a moment.

I was right; Ulquiorra Schiffer came along.

And gave me the bloody fight of my life when he wasn't busy taunting Inoue or me for the stark majority with some spectacular vocabulary. We wound up upstaging each other by advancing our respective battling forms, and things got incomprehensibly out of hand that I was completely knocked out. In an all out to-the-death duel too. Inoue and Ishida later briefed me on what really happened while I was busy lurking in the realms of tragic unconsciousness: my inner Hollow wasn't too pleased with my handling of matters and wrestled the steering wheel away from my control, then being the immoral sonofabitch he affirmatively is, he/I slashed Ulquiorra but never once fatally injuring him, and finally when the Cuatro Espada was busy charging his Lance of Mass Destruction was the exact moment Hollow Me landed an earth-shattering hit on his head. He didn't die of course; he recovered wonderfully but Inoue claimed he was woozy then, and in his wooziness he chopped away one of my inner Hollow's horns, and after the longest while nothing happened.

Then I woke up to see Inoue sobbing her heart out and Ishida looking concerned, before shifting his attention onto something beside me.

It was one whole piece of something.

Touch wood I didn't feel quite right about that. There was a mass of black cloth, though in one whole piece but tattered and shredded beyond belief, his broken lance, some bone fragments, and then nothing was left save for...

...one whole, _small_ piece under all that post-battle debris.

It began to shake and teeter and made gurgling noises. It made Ishida curious. It made Inoue curious too. Of all people I was most curious. So I took action because the other two made for some outstandingly excellent stone figurines, and grabbed the torn black cloth, then tore it away from the moving lump.

The lump squeaked.

I blinked. Ishida's glasses glinted. Inoue gulped. I blinked again.

The revealed lump blinked back. Somehow I had the foggiest idea as to what it, no, _who_ it really was. Then so commenced the checklist of distinguishable physical attributes.

Shaggy black hair – check. Green eyes – check. Small downturned mouth – check. Fine teal lines running down the cheeks – check. Shockingly pale even for one who's already dead for starters – check. Unflinching stare – check. I held up his chubby hand and inspected his fingers. Black nails – check. Ludicrously small in physique – uncheck. Practically naked – uncheck. The numeral tattoo on his chest - uncheck. Uncheck uncheck uncheck. What the hell was going on? Did the Espada, like Nel, revert to...?

"What?" I shouted at the tiny piece, simply for the sake of being surprised and unleashing the unwarranted surprise at the one who was the surprise.

"Oh my god...!" exclaimed Inoue. Yes, she covered her agape mouth with both hands in true damsel fashion.

"He needs new clothes," said You-Know-Who, rendering me amazed with his offbeat passion.

"It's...!" Inoue reacted sensibly.

"He went back in time," said You-Know-Who, again. "He's a..."

"A baby!" Inoue was near hysterics. She's a stellar example why I never can understand women, or even attempt to understand. Minutes or hours ago she was weeping her brains away and now she's over the moon. All because of a tiny piece who nearly ripped her heart out.

"Not really a baby, Inoue-san," Ishida pushed up his glasses. "He's a small child. From the looks of it I'd postulate his age to be around four."

"He's still a baby!" Inoue couldn't had been anymore deluded. "Let's bri-"

"Okay, child or not. We're done, let's get back to the rest," I said quickly. "Come on Inoue, we're bringing you bac-"

"No!" Inoue cried. "No! Look at him, he's about to cry!"

I stared hard at the tiny piece that was Ulquiorra Schiffer. I swore the greater my focus on his face the faster his green eyes grew. Not that his weren't big originally, but now that he had downsized to a child's build, his face naturally shrank, making his green orbs even larger, to the point where they almost swallowed his head and a pair of luminescent jade glow continued to stare back at you with equal fervor.

"We can't bring him back with us," I dissuaded her. "He's an _Arrancar_ for chrissake!"

"But Kurosaki-kun, he's about to cry, and if we don't br-"

"He abducted you."

"He's so vulnerable, and is about to cry, and if we-"

"He held you captive."

"He's so _small_!"

"I agree with Inoue-san."

"Shut up, Ishida."

"I agree with Inoue-san."

"Yes I heard you the first time, bloody Quincy."

"I didn't say that, brainless substitute Shinigami!"

"Inoue can't possibly refer to herself as the third person, much less use it to agree with herself."

"So who said that?"

"Who?"

"It's me," a soft cherubic voice floated in. "I agree with Inoue-san."

"You?!" I shouted again.

The tiny piece named Ulquiorra merely stared back. It was nice to know he didn't bawl his lungs out.

"Don't shout at him, Kurosaki-kun," Inoue looked offended. "No matter what we're going to take him away! Unlike Neliel-san he has nobody to take care of him! And he doesn't even look like a Hollow now. He just looks like a regular small child. No one will know!"

"B-"

And then I was terribly outwitted by two humans and out-stared by an Arrancar.

Hence begins the second harassment by a kid who should have known better, and perhaps I could have been more pleasant about this should he opt to follow Inoue or Ishida or the both of them for an ideal option but no, and as said previously, I have this unspeakable charisma about me that just speaks volumes to kids (especially Arrancars), reaches out to them with the promise of extreme joy and candies, and have them irresistibly attracted to my every breath.

So he follows us about silently – me specifically, and sometimes I end up crashing into him. Do bear in mind I'm speaking as we make our way over to Soul Society.

That means something, right? Right, it means we've only just _begun_.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thanks for all the nice little things you could possibly do to this fic, so here's number two! Typed speedily while waiting for a Saturday language class to commence and edited while I'm gorging myself silly with mooncakes and Chinese tea. Sheesh. Enjoy, and happy Mid-Autumn Festival to all. :)

**...**

**Chapter Two**

You know those kids who enjoy skidding past you at insane speeds in shopping malls in their impeccable roller shoes, and sometimes in your tragic lack of fortune they skate right over your toes, leaving those poor flesh and bone limbs dangling by the scruff of their joints? Those insolent kids giggle as though it is the most natural activity in the whole damn world, and you wonder whatever happened to Mr. Manners and Miss Consideration. Then you turn around to sneer at them with your best Hannibal Lecter impersonation, and those silly mini people make faces at you for laughs. Deep down inside you mock them for being clueless runts. You stalk down the path toward them, looking to consume their brains in a variety of criminal methods, and attempting to yank those horrid inventions off their feet and...! You wind up being chased by their pissed off mothers and badgered by their fathers' hairy fists.

Oddly so, this is the mindboggling situation at hand. Make a few changes and we're good to go. Pissed off mother – Inoue. Father – Ishida. Hairy fists – pins and needles. Then swap those giggly kids with an ignorant one giving you an obscenely blank look whenever you sharply turn on your heels to scare him into immobility. And then you blame yourself for even harboring thoughts of berating him for being a massive annoyance, and you progressively feel like you've sealed a pact with the angels and their melodious harps when he blinks, and blinks, and blinks at you, thereby proclaiming his wide eyed innocence like a row of glittery Christmas lights. Blink flash blink. Flash blink flash. It feels like some melodramatic Precious Moments advertisement, forcing you to pick up the phone immediately and purchase their interminable supply of greeting cards. Of course I scoff at it! What am I? An eighty year old granny knitting horrendously mismatched wool sweaters in a rocking chair? And then I completely subscribe to it. I'm such a champion of life that it leaves me in tears just by thinking about it.

Damn kid.

Damn the kid named Ulquiorra Schiffer.

Damn the makeshift black whatever Ishida made for him from the remnants we found. It resembles a rice sack and despite the overwhelming urge to point it out I don't. I hear Ishida packs a mean punch. He'd make for an ideal father in the pervasive shopping mall phenomenon depicted above.

Anyhow, damn the kid and his reckless acceleration. Previously he was trailing behind me quietly, and out of the godforsaken blue he disappeared when I spun around in my most spine-chilling smile, whizzing past me, and reappeared in the sky. And what was a peaceful traveling session plunged straight down into hellish grounds. He began to discover his unnerving speed and zipped about tirelessly. In fact he's so blindingly fast that he doesn't see where he's going, not to mention he obviously doesn't know where he's heading for, and when you don't know the directions you either ask or walk behind someone who does. You don't blaze ahead of everyone else – I'm nowhere his equal yet – and when you finally realize that you are anything but a GPS device, you simply don't dash backwards until you knock into something. That's not very proper of a kid, isn't it? And the rest don't get it; it is only I. It is only me. They don't understand. Battles after battles, with each opponent proudly declaring to dice me into numerous cubes and claim victory, and now that's temporarily done and dusted with, all I have is a kid who rams into me continuously. I know, I'm a champion of life. Sod it. Sod the tiny piece's powerful Sonido. And I ain't whining.

Someone ought to tell him to turn it down several notches. Forget it. He should just stop moving altogether. I need obedience. I need names except mine. But who can I call upon?

Inoue? She'll digress horribly and perhaps nag (I swear kids bring out the worst in her) and stuff some inedible food (I'm not sure if you can exactly call them that) down his throat. Potential manslaughter. She already has done her share by commenting he's quicker than Yachiru, who for a child is already donning a wig plucked from bits of cotton candy. I kid, I kid. Kenpachi's still somewhere out here. I hope he's done lopping off the praying mantis' arms that sprouts out at a disgusting rate.

Ishida? He would probably whip out diagrams and bar charts detailing every excessively tedious bullet point on PowerPoint slides. He's a bore. But a good bore no less. Maybe his boring explanation would send the Sonido fan into some much needed sleep. Not for the likes of that tiny fellow though.

So we're back to Ulquiorra after all. Damn his teeny-weeny piece of a self; it's getting increasingly difficult to not peek at him and burst into heartening guffaws. What was a fearsome and analytical warrior is now reduced to a pipsqueak bopping around in a rice sack, and appears almost adorable enough to pinch and tickle and pull funny faces at.

Who else is there to blame? Oh!

Damn Aizen for ruining everything. Perhaps I could start up a business in Soul Society after the war of both worlds has come to a closure, and set up help desks for people whose lives have been sadly altered by the mere mention of Aizen's existence. It would rake in a mountain of cash. This pesky, tiny brat here can be the poster child. He epitomizes Murphy's Law to the point where ridiculousness ain't apt no more. He deserves a brand new Law to himself. Say, Schiffer's Law, where everything that could go wrong definitely goes wrong, and topping that, it's a peculiar type of wrong that leaves you shrunk and bewildered and exceptionally retarded. The worst kind of wrongs. Maybe it's my fault that I whacked him too hard on the head.

I feel an abrupt jolt of revitalization; Ulquiorra is walking beside me like a normal kid, and I refrain from poking at his sides. And he blurs away in parallel strobes of light before I could stick a hand out. Then it's back to the graceful vilification of people around me.

Damn Inoue for being taken away to Las Noches.

Damn Rukia for appearing that fateful night.

Damn women in general.

Damn Ishida for swaying the vote against my favor – the sensible option of the two.

Damn Kon. I want to phone home and inquire about the status of my family – I heard they've been placed under some sleeping spell, so no one would pick up my call anyway.

Damn these dead people.

Damn me, for being talked into this implausible affair of not deserting him and not having him enjoy his sweet deserts of languishing in the vast expanse of sand called a desert. That sounds somewhat cruel, but I'm no Aizen nor do we share the slightest trace of affiliation – other than sharing contact with his zanpakutou. That's me at the end of it, blood pouring out in copious amounts, and he wielding it, tricking naïve and wizened souls alike with sheer pomposity. He is one who takes self-aggrandizement to otherworldly levels, and sees the incessant need to conquer all in sight because one place alone can't quite house his ego.

In brevity, that's a second 'Damn you!' to Aizen. I'm sure everyone would throw grenades at him if possible. That is _if_ he doesn't hypnotize us into dumping the chewed off grenades into our own mouths. Hence the safest alternative would be to cuss at him from an endless distance.

"Kurosaki-kun!" one of the damned ones shouts.

I pretend not to hear and continue dishing out practical advice to a circus of fools parading in my mind.

"Kurosaki-kun! Ulquiorra's coming through!" the damned one yells. "Kuro-"

"Just let him go, Inoue. He can go anywhere he wants, except near me!" I yell back, annoyed, and just in time for something tiny to knock a double whammy into the back of my knees, making me keel over on the spot. I look pretty much a legless worm squirming along the cold sand grains, and angrily scan the precinct for the sole culprit.

"Oi brat!" I narrow my eyes at Ulquiorra, who is sufficiently honest to not dash away in guilt. He however remains as chatty as a block of wood. His huge green eyes blink once, then twice. His bottom lip twitches for a moment, and he actually has the gall to seem..._amused_?

"Say sorry, you nasty kid," I growl threateningly. "This is the fifteenth time already!"

Ulquiorra's eyes grow larger in disbelief, and his stubby fingers shoot up in some sort of calculation that clearly evades me. "It's only the thirteenth time."

You don't get convicted for pulling a homicide on kids here in the Spiritual Realm, do you? Even if they are technically not kids to begin with? Suddenly Inoue's legendary culinary abilities whet my appetite.

"Look brat," I say, with all the logical, sensible maturity I can muster, "when you do something that incurs another person's wrath, you _apologize_. Regardless whether that person hints at it or not."

"Kurosaki, don't talk to the child like that," Ishida pipes in. "He can't understand."

"Then what?" I glower at the bespectacled teen. "Mollycoddle him and make baby sounds?"

"Leave that to me," Inoue interjects. "Kurosaki-kun, you're too strict with him!"

"No," says the pestilential kid. "I'm not an infant."

"See?" I pat his diminutive back in triumph. "Even the brat himself knows!"

Inoue's watery gray orbs suddenly turn to goo, and in my befuddlement she begins to make a series of notes, comprised entirely of meaningless syllables. "Awww..."

Ishida pushes his spectacles up with a lithe finger and smiles wryly. "That's quite a sight, Kurosaki."

"What sight, Four Eyes?" I demand, failing to notice my arm is now looped around Ulquiorra's small shoulders.

"I always knew you have a thing for little children, Kurosaki-kun," Inoue makes yet another absolutely unnecessary comment. She then gazes at me with fish eyes, slippery and emotive. Women.

"You have a heavy arm, Kurosaki," an infantile voice creeps in, and the mysteriously debatable consensus at last connect with my senses. I, Kurosaki Ichigo, self-proclaimed enemy of Espadas United and righter of all things wrong, am currently engaged in a Precious Moments snapshot with a vile little snot who has been consistently left out of Santa's Annual List. Yes, that damn kid! He appreciates nothing – not even a comforting arm round his shuddering self, doesn't he? As Cuatro Espada hours ago, and as a bothersome prat with espionage tendencies now.

"Didn't Aizen and his traitorous ilk teach you about the ways of life?" I say snidely, to everyone's badly disguised horror.

"You said the 'A' word!" Inoue frowns mildly.

Meanwhile, Ishida's frown is so discernible that it could have been a perpetual scar. "Didn't we agree not to breathe a word of 'A' until we get to Soul Society?"

"Aizen who?" asks Ulquiorra, his childishly curt vocals cutting through the noise. He sounds rude; he doesn't. But at least he doesn't sound as subservient as we reckon him to be. Formalities as Aizen's reliable henchman are cast away. We heave a massive sigh of relief; we shouldn't. When a kid is as well-behaved as a potential street ruffian is when you roll up your sleeves and a thick wad of newspaper, and send it to the kid's bottom. But Ulquiorra Schiffer is an abnormal being of tiny proportions. Hence the opposite must definitely apply to him, thus removing his abnormalities and making him a wee bit normal.

"Well, he's a candyman!" I grin, wanting to test his reaction further. "You run when you see him, get it? Away, not toward. If he comes close enough with an insatiable lolly, you bite his hand off, grab the lolly and cero him in the nuts. Understand?"

Ulquiorra blinks at me; his understanding is as crystalline as a muddy swamp. "Cero? Candyman? Run away? Insatiable?"

"Hey Kurosaki. Quit confusing him further," Ishida remarks. "He doesn't remember a thing."

"He might be feigning it!" I cross my arms. One must always exercise caution when in the presence of enemies. Their shapes and sizes and ages bear no percussion. Even though this tiny piece, who has just Sonido-ed into the overextending stretches of sand, looks very much like a human soul – his bone mask has completely vanished, leaving behind a horn of the shortest ever imaginable length. It is so inconspicuous that it may have as well grown inwards. It makes him bear semblance to some Halloween project gone wrong, and yet he looks too...I hate to admit it, guileless, to be planted in the same sentence as something as devilish as said festival. Not to mention his very hollow hole located at the larynx closed up. There is no evidence of his previous Hollow existence, save for the tiny horn atop his equally tiny head.

"Obviously," Ishida rolls his eyes. I resist the urge to roll mine too.

"Hush, the both of you!" Inoue chastises. "He looks like he's going to cry."

"You've been repeating the exact same sentence since the day those teal lines are formed," I mutter, not caring if anyone hears me or otherwise. "He is, and was, and will always be going to cry. Just on the verge of tears because he's that melancholic naturally and he's a tiny piece now, so his tear ducts must, without further consideration, be tiny too. Watch out as tears spil-OW!" I am left clutching my shin as the damn perpetrator of domestic violence acts again. Damn kid. I retract whatever positive statements I have earlier made about this tiny bozo. It's also time to restart my mental seminar of people to blame.

"Kurosaki-kun, why do you have to be so mean?" Inoue sobs. No she says it calmly. No she says it calmly with a reproachful stare. "Is it because he was an Espada? But so was Nel-san."

It's a struggle to delve into the origin of her thoughts. A hopeless struggle at that, therefore I shan't bother.

"If meanness is a disease then Kurosaki is a natural carrier," says the King of Needles and Threads. He rubs his chin in some wise introspection, and Inoue smiles. I feel nothing but frustration lumped together with exhaustion.

"Get lost, brat," I scowl at Ulquiorra. "Do it again and I'll bury your pathetic mug in the sands!"

He stares at me, green eyes flashing owlishly, dark lips set in a petulant line, and promptly zooms off like a crisply fired missile.

And so comes the bunch of merrymakers and a champion of the world, tossing confetti, blowing french horns and a-marching into town.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Are we there yet?" asks Ulquiorra, for the sixth time. He gazes up at me with his gloomy green eyes, and I feel like sending him to outer space with an impressive kick. It doesn't matter if my energy is entirely expended with that swift action, but it matters a lot if he continues to bug me with his presence.

"Soon."

"I see," says Ulquiorra, flatly, and off he goes like the launching of a satellite, and then returns after completing a minor orbit around us and making a guest appearance at the far end of the clouds. I wish the clouds are alive. They can then gobble him up, and I'm not being evil here. The clouds are cushy, wispy little bits of water vapor and he can sleep peacefully on them or in them – it doesn't bother me of course, and I'd be at last free of kids who stick onto me like super glue. And I mean the incredibly strong ones.

"Are we there yet?" Ulquiorra finds the unnerving need to open his mouth to highlight his fear of being overlooked due to his size. To describe him as bothersome is like describing an open heart surgery as a mere laceration on the knee.

"Fuc-" I yell, and my verbal outburst is cut short by six pairs of eyeballs and a pair of glinting spectacles shooting my way. Said eloquent display then ends up as a lame finish:

"Fuchsia!"

Spouting a near vulgarity in such an incorrect and sprightly vibe makes me feel like I've just spun the Wheel of Fortune. My rendition of 'Fuchsia!' bears the ghostly ring of 'Big Money! Big Money!'.

"Fuchsia?" Inoue looks dazed.

I nod dumbly. "Fuchsia."

"What fuchsia?" she peers at me with doe eyes. I hurriedly look away – I have an ill omen about this.

"Fuchsia is pronounced as fyew-sha, not fuch-sha," Ulquiorra corrects our mispronunciation, and generally looking every bit the pompously tiny asshole he currently is. "Fyew-sha. Fyew-sha."

We then lapse into a tedious bout of silence.

**…**

Halfway during our journey to a place of some godforbidden distance, Ishida decides to have a soliloquy on my poor perception of time and space, before launching into an excruciating showing of disdain for my misadventures, and then contempt for himself, for recklessly tagging along in this 'dangerous wave of pines and thorns'. He gazes upon the bland, black rice sack Ulquiorra is dressed in, and laments:

"All I've ever wanted to be is a designer for children's wear."

It ain't much, but least I now know which potential name to strike off when faced with the inevitable decision to purchase clothes for tots.

**…**

Because we're all stifling yawns while flashing away at great speeds (the tiny piece and me), or strolling along at a leisurely pace (Inoue and Ishida), or backtracking to make sure everyone remains as a proper group of four and no one is suddenly taken away by tiny piece's kind (me), or impetuously winding my bones down with stupid, paralyzing knocks (that dastardly tiny piece), I decide to go on the offensive.

"Oi, brat."

Ulquiorra responds by staring me down from where he stands, which is rather amusing, because he only reaches up to my mid-thighs. "What is it, Kurosaki?" he asks. On top of that his imperious tone makes everything develop a magnified tinge of humor.

"How old are you?" I quirk a skeptical brow. "As in, really."

Inoue and Ishida lean in at the same time – I've asked the question everybody wants to know.

"I bet he's four," Ishida whispers in true conspiratorial fashion. I haven't a clue who he's conspiring with and against. Poor man's an island.

Inoue seems perturbed for a second. "He's a baby. He's an infant!"

Ulquiorra glares at Inoue, silencing her, then back at me. His index finger jolts out.

"You're one?!" I shout in disbelief. "Impossible."

Ulquiorra then holds up his middle finger. It resembles a sausage, all chubby and short.

"Two...?!" It is Ishida's turn to shout. "Oh...well...mayb-"

Ulquiorra raises his sausag-I mean ring finger.

"Three then?" Inoue giggles. "Three months old?"

Ulquiorra then holds up his pinky too.

"Four!" Ishida is ecstatic. I think he's crazy in a sensible and maddeningly mathematical kind of way, and by that I mean he's really a closeted nutcase, but dare not say so. It's obvious though. That guy probably carries with him a stack of poisonous needles everywhere he goes. Those deep pockets of his gloriously white outfit aren't there to look pretty. The spectacles are there to fool everyone. "Four years old!"

Ulquiorra shakes his small head. "No."

"No?" Ishida is bewildered. "You raised four fingers."

"I saw that too," Inoue joins in.

"Yes, but no," Ulquiorra mutters cryptically, and lowers his hand. He wants to stuff it into a pocket but Ishida hasn't enough threads on him to sew them.

"Then?" I can't resist the opportunity to pounce on the depressed looking kid, and chuckle outright when his round shoulders jerk in astonishment. His face however, delivers the calmness of an ocean.

"I'm four hundred years old."

We lapse into another tedious bout of silence.

**…**

"Well," Inoue clears her throat, flinching at the actuality of her reacting first. "That's...erm, that's erm, that's erm-"

If that isn't some awkward sense of co-ordination I don't know what is.

"Old," Ishida kindly finishes for her.

Inoue bobs her head frigidly. "Yes. Old."

**…**

"So..." Ulquiorra the Old Hollow begins. He makes me regret not bringing a huge roll of duct tape from home. "Are we there yet?"

"Shut up."

"Honestly, Kurosaki, this is taking a long time," Ishida blurts out. "Are you sure you're heading in the correct direction?"

"Why don't you take control then, bloody Quincy?" I snap. Hooray for me! Abstain from placing the blame upon my shoulders; I'm fine, thank you. I simply am having one of those 'moments'. Those rare moments where I feel thoroughly unhappy with the world, and coursing through my bloodstream is everything save for pleasantries and patience and goodwill. They are exterminated by both the bile and spleen. Nothing augurs well. I'm just another moody adolescent stranded in my angsty world. Nobody understands.

"It's alright, Kurosaki-kun," says Inoue, soothingly. "We understand. Nobody's rushing."

"We have to quickly return to them!" I bellow. "We have to assist in the fight, one way or another. You know what that sadistic magician can do! Besides, Renji, Rukia and Chad are still in Hueco Mundo. And I _honestly_ wonder what on earth made me walk away from that place with this..." I look askance at Ulquiorra, who is hopelessly lost in his tiny world. "This...kid."

"You're in no condition to fight, obviously," Ishida chides, and takes stock of my physical being. I'm knackered and scarred and bloodied and newly bruised, courtesy of a green eyed midget. "Two battles in one go. What more could you ask for? You intruding into the next one would only cause more damage, and by that I mean onto yourself."

To say I'm manipulative is going overboard, but I do know when to make full use of a remark made in my favor. "What else can I do? And we all know Aizen is one nasty sonofabitch."

"Aizen..." Ulquiorra mutters in a childish lilt. "Nasty sonofabitch."

Inoue and Ishida are mortified at the tiny piece's impressionable nature. I am slightly proud of him. He has come miles and depths since several hours ago; from a slave boy to a rebellious toddler. He has truly grown up. He has truly shrunk. He has every ounce of my support to stage a rebellion in Hueco Mundo. Down with Aizen! Down! An uprising is in the works, y'all! Rise up and take the power back you damn retarded Hollows! Make Aizen have a heart attack when he gets back!

"Stop cussing, Kurosaki!" Ishida whispers at a volume just right for Aizen and his cronies to hear him from wherever they are. "Can't you see he's copying your speech? And bits of ours! And why are you laughing to yourself?"

"Am I?" I hastily wipe away the wily smile on my face; I'm supposed to be fierce and moody. A man on a mission to cure the world of a disease named Aizen. "And may I inquire when has sonofabitch become a bad word? Bitch might be, but it also means a female dog, in case you are too much of a prude, Four Eyes!"

"You're teaching him all the wrong things, Kurosaki-kun," says Inoue, disappointed.

"Bitch," Ulquiorra mutters, to Inoue's further horror amid a stringent exhibition of unhappiness. "Aizen...nasty sonofabitch...Fyew-sha...Fuch-sha..."

What can I say? The kid, despite being painstakingly irritating, is a fast learner of unorthodox speech. Thus I shrug nonchalantly. "It's hardly my fault if he opts to screen my every move and syllable, then pick out the best of the lot and parrot them. And he's bright, and already has a keen sense of justice. Can't you see? He is associating Aizen, his previous Lord whom he was most faithful to, with a derogatory term. His mindset is changing. Maybe we can have him switch sides. He's a lovely bulldozer."

"Damn it, Kurosaki, can't you ever be serious?"

"No."

"Fuch-sha..."

"Shut up, brat."

**…**

"Kurosaki," Ulquiorra states plainly. The knowledge that he still is as engaging as ever is very comforting.

"Hmm...?"

"...are we there yet?"

**…**

It is after a tiresome sequence of righteous bantering and childish acts of violence and inhumane comprehension of self-restrain that we are finally _about_ to reach Soul Society. My endurance is pretty much at its end now, and if you think I'm weak and running low on fuel just because, think again. Try having to avoid a flying bullet targeted at your legs every now and then, then a woman squealing at the bullet's adorableness and berating you for tarnishing these immense moments, then proceeding to stare into your recesses with some limpid sort of, I don't know, affection maybe, and then, figuring out the correct direction to the West Gate. It isn't that difficult, save for the lack of markings one normally finds on the black granite roads on land. Sometimes I think I can pass for a pilot, if only huge vultures would stay away from my plane and send it swooping down.

"Why the West Gate? The South Gate is nearer," asks Ishida, him holding the rightful authority on directions.

"Oh Ulquiorra, don't run around so much!" Inoue joins in from the background, then takes to chasing the ill-mannered, speed monster of an Ulquiorra Schiffer, downsized version.

"Why do you bother asking? We're reaching anyway," I frown, and the happy frown takes up permanency on my face, as we watch Inoue stumble over her own feet and fall while hopelessly attempting to catch up with the Sonido prodigy. I feel ashamed when I pause in my tracks to watch the devastating scene happen again and again. It's a shameless kind of shame. It's like watching a truck crash into a motorbike from the opposite side of the road. I'm sure Ishida is too; he wants to intervene but doesn't. I suppose we're all guilty of the same thing.

"Are we there yet?" the tiny brat brakes himself, and stops short of slamming into my head with his sudden arrival. He sure is lucky that I'm as fit as they come. Inoue isn't as fortunate. She falls onto Ishida, who, weirdly, and I probably have to attach a greater importance to it because he really is looking weirdly flustered as he grips her arms to prevent them from colliding into each other. Aha. We may be onto something new here.

"Are we _there_ yet?" Ulquiorra demands, and emphasizes his impatience by enlarging his green orbs. It makes his eyes pop from the sockets, and that's scary. "Are we there yet?"

"Yes. _Soon_," I hiss. "Stop asking me that. Aren't you tired of repeating yourself? It is the twentieth time!"

"It's only the tenth time," Ulquiorra says, and mirrors my body language of arms folded and even frowns a little. Once again he has proved his hand at compiling simple statistics, and once more I have demonstrated how inept I can be at tabulating scores when exhausted. "That means I have ten more tries before I reach your anointed quota, Kurosaki."

"Fuc-"

"Don't say that word!" Ishida warns. "He's only four-

"Fuc-!"

"-hundred years old," Ishida concedes. He looks resigned. I am resigned to my fate.

"Fyew-sha?" Ulquiorra asks, his huge green eyes shiny. "Fyew-sha. Fuch-sha. Aizen. Sonofabit-"

"Just...please, just," I raise both knuckles to my temples and rub them. "Just...shut up. Or go away. Or go bother someone else. Like Inoue. Or Ishida! He's very, very good at counting. He's so good at it that he hates himself."

Ishida promptly throws me a pointed glare.

"You're better, Kurosaki," Ulquiorra states, his earnest gaze fixed on mine. I have to admit I'm surprised at the offhanded approbation. Oh, the brat! Should I pat him on the back?

"Nah," I try to sound modest and wave his remarks away, "not as excellent as you. Although a computer could probably win us both with utmost ease."

He returns my comment with a look that can only be best described as...happy? Is it alright if I think of his imperceptibly upturned corners of the mouth as displaying happiness? The crinkled folds that melt into one another as his round green eyes narrow barely, and his serious charcoal brows seem to lose their tormenting knot. The dwarf of a glimmer that simpers about him. Sheesh. All the tell-tale signs of discreet happiness, if anything.

**…**

Never before have I been as glad to have the White Way Gate viewed in its entire stretch, and beyond the humongous door lies Seireitei. I surmise we could obtain more useful information here, and have everyone enjoy a safe and brief respite before charging off to wherever instincts take us. With any luck, someone might offer surrogacy services for this kiddy escapee from Las Noches.

"Are we there yet?" asks the pipsqueak hobbling about in a rice sack. If I send my knuckles plummeting down on his head would he revert to his original self? Although quite a threatening outcome, it is almost gratifying. Suppose he won't act like a goddamn loser of a kid anymore. Suppose I won't end up growing accustomed to his tiny presence. "Are we ther-"

"_Yeah_," I affirm, fatigued. "Damn we're finally here. Another word from you and I'm sending you to Division 12 to be dissected, understand?"

Holding immunity to all words and intonations used, Ulquiorra doesn't budge an inch, and continues to use his magnificent eyeballing powers to return my threat. Some nerves of steel, huh. I decide to temporarily ignore him, and move on to matters of paramount significance, such as:

"Report on the distance covered please."

"What do you take me for?" Ishida questions with iron-like undertones in his voice. "A fuel mileage meter?"

"Let's go in!" Inoue says happily. "Let's go-what are you doing, Kurosaki-kun?"

I grab the lower ends of my black hakama, and tear off a sizable portion. "Making a veil."

"Whatever for? You're getting stranger by the minute," comments Ishida, disturbed by the brutish manner I employ in his favored craft. "We should check you in at the Fourth Division as soon as possible."

"Right," I smirk proudly. "Wait till we get this tiny runt into Seireitei first."

"Why didn't I think of that in the first place?" Inoue pounds a fist into her palm, an indication of her mind shifting gears. "Will they refuse him entry? But he looks normal now."

"Refuse him entry? Inoue-san, that's taking things lightly. They're going to have him locked up," Ishida chirps. "And examined from head to toe. Oh no."

And I can't believe my ears. Are we about to launch into a debate whether it was the correct decision to have him brought here in the first place? Whether it was alright to jump into a hole, then look upward in hindsight and blame the hole for being there?

"So you're basically insinuating that I suffered all these incessant knocks just to have him put behind bars?" I say to furiously shaking heads, and beckon Ulquiorra to come over. "Don't you dare use your speed before that giant guarding the gate, understand? Just be normal. Just walk. And don't stare."

Ulquiorra totters toward me on his short, stumpy legs; he really is obedient when he wants to.

"What are you up to?" Ishida isn't too convinced. "Now, don't be silly."

"Silly? I'm not the one who's looking silly," I laugh silently, and place the piece of black cloth on Ulquiorra's head. It is wide and long enough to cover his tiny head. "Make sure the cloth stays on your head the whole time, understand?"

The veiled Ulquiorra only nods, and from behind the opaque cloth I can picture him glaring scathingly at me, as though I have stolen his candy from the candyman, and in an eerie bout of causative thinking it is true. By the indivisible power of Schiffer's Law, I have after all, nicked the now child-like Espada from Aizen the activist of all things bad and none good. It is amazing how someone can be as evil as him. He is capable of rewriting spiritual history independently. Heck that, he deserves an entire library of textbooks to his name. He makes historians delighted and excited by his presence. He fools young, naïve girls like spitting seeds from an orange. You can't get anymore badass than that.

"I'm doing this for your own good, twerp," I say sternly, then turn to the side and cackle. He has successfully transformed from a half-bodied rice sack to a 20 kg sack of rice.

With that, we begin to advance toward the West Gate, three humans and a veiled little Arrancar in tow.

**…**

"Ichigo! Is that you?" Jidanbou calls out from some hefty meters away. I am forced to remember his cries from months ago, when I defeated him to have the gate opened. They were like a siren that never ceased. So much for depicting a colossal portrayal of 'all brawn and no brains'. "You humans! You humans!" he cries, and swings his axes in the air wildly.

I wave a hand. "Yo! We're back!" Inoue and Ishida wave theirs too. Ulquiorra looks set to wave as well, but I forbid him.

"Hold onto your veil, brat!" I whisper sharply, poking him in the sides (finally!).

"What brings you here today, humans?" Jidanbou asks. I can't stop comparing his size to Ulquiorra's. It sends tingles down my tummy. "You look to be in bad shape, Ichigo!"

Ditto. "Same goes to you," I say, and attempt to block him from scrutinizing the veiled tiny piece beside me.

Meanwhile, Jidanbou is on the verge of an epic breakdown. "Me too? But I thought I cleaned up good."

"Uh..." I stammer.

Ishida glances fiercely at me. "Say something to appease him!"

"Inoue?" I beg her for help, and really should learn to hold my tongue the next time, especially in front of this sensitive giant.

"Kurosaki-kun?" she responds in a trance-like state. "What is it?"

Christ!

"Uh, you did. Good job. Very good job," I say in pacification, and clumsily pat Jidanbou on his thick shin. "Can you let us in?"

Jidanbou smiles a diffident smile at my friendly gesture, then answers,

"No. Why?"

Already I feel the walls of endless doom creeping up on me and caving in on me. I chose the West Gate because I figured we'd all be familiar with one another, hence the leniency in gaining us entry to Seireitei. And then he goes on and dismisses it with a simple 'No'. A 'No'! What am I supposed to do now? Engage him in another fight? Though it would take only seconds but I am dangerously succumbing to instantaneous unconsciousness anytime, anywhere.

"Because..."

"Because..." Inoue adds.

"No need for because!" Jidanbou laughs deafeningly, and his spacious chest heaves up and down like dancing tremors. "I was only having you on! Ichigo, you are as cute as your name!"

Really, is there a need to do that?

"You mean you'll let us through? Without defeating you or any of that stuff?"

"Yeah," Jidanbou nods like a swinging pendulum, his long sideburns tied up in pony-tail tufts sway along in tandem. "No matter what the folks inside may say, you humans are good. And you!" he looks at Inoue with gratitude. "Treat it as a form of payback for stitching my arm back then."

Inoue blushes. "You're welcome."

Said giant then turns to the gate behind him, and with a ferocious roar unheard since Heaven and Earth were separated at birth, he yells:

"Heave-ho!" Deep breath. "Heave-ho!" Another deep breath. "Heaaaaaaaave-ho!" And up goes the gate.

"Run along, humans!" Jidanbou urges us on like a Shepard with a wood staff to hit our asses if we stray away from the herd. "Run along!"

"Come!" I grab Ulquiorra's soft hand and pull him into action, running past Jidanbou and through the gateway alongside Inoue and Ishida.

"Wait, Ichigo!" Jidanbou stops me, and points at the veiled brat. "What's this?"

Three lively hearts freeze at once, excluding Ulquiorra's. I'm fairly sure he lacks one.

"What do you think?" I spin around slowly, taking my time to deliberate for a perfect, foolproof reply.

Jidanbou continues to eye Ulquiorra suspiciously. "You smuggling something in?"

"Yep."

Two inert hearts forget to beat.

"Ooh!" Jidanbou winks surreptitiously. "May I know what?"

Often in ludicrous situations such as this, when you conjure a lie big enough, people will believe it. Lesson taken from Aizen. And when the lie itself is completely out of hand, people will think you're witty and snarky and honest. And when you tell the truth, which isn't a legal kind of truth, they don't bother to censor your words anymore.

It's either do or die trying. "I'm smuggling Arrancars."

We slip into an exorbitant period of uncomfortable silence.

"Ichigo!" Jidanbou says cheerfully, and we release the choking breaths held back by nervous anticipation. "You really are as cute as your name!"

**…**

**A/N: **Is it me or are canonical fics tougher to write? I wish to adhere closely to the main plot but ughh sometimes I forget what the other details are. Growl. I tend to jumble up the sequence which events happened. Thank god for Bleach Wikia, lol. Thanks for reading too. Lately it seems my writing is rolling down the hill.


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